


The Worst Kind of People

by sterlinglee



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Friendship, Gen, training camp antics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-20
Updated: 2014-03-20
Packaged: 2018-01-16 08:55:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1339546
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sterlinglee/pseuds/sterlinglee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><br/>Tsukishima falls in with the wrong crowd, and makes some questionable decisions he can't back out of.</p>
<p>(In which volleyball is the stuff of dreams, Kuroo is the stuff of nightmares, Bokuto doesn't know when to stuff it, and Akaashi knows that once you're in there's just no going back.)<br/></p>
            </blockquote>





	The Worst Kind of People

Tsukishima was supposed to be the smart one (not that that meant much, considering the people he ended up hanging out with). No matter how you looked at it, he really should have seen this coming. But he didn’t catch on until Bokuto started handing him things at lunch.  


“Tsukishima-kun, I bet you like sour things. Try this pickle, it’s pretty good!” Bokuto urged him, and before he knew it he was holding a little plate of some shredded vegetable in vinegar.  


At training camp, mid-morning spike-and-block practice with Bokuto turned into lunch more often than Tsukishima liked to admit. But the pickle _did_ look good. He took some—and froze with his chopsticks hovering in midair, filled with sudden horror. Bokuto was oblivious, of course, and got up from the shady grass they were sitting in to go talk to Kuroo.  


Akaashi had been sitting on Bokuto’s other side, and Tsukishima caught his eye. “He thinks we’re friends,” he hissed to the dispassionate setter, feeling his fight-or-flight instincts begin to kick into gear. “Oh, _God_.”  


“You weren’t doing anything to stop him, so I assumed you didn’t mind,” Akaashi said. As always, his expression was hard to read. Was he enjoying this? Tsukishima resisted the entirely uncool urge to grind his teeth.  


“Friendship with a player as skilled as Bokuto-san is nothing to turn your nose up at,” Akaashi said solemnly, and yeah, he was definitely enjoying this. “He’ll be upset if you rebuff him now. He’ll think he’s done something wrong, but he won’t be able to understand what.”  


Leaning closer, Akaashi gave Tsukishima his blankest, most terrifying stare. “I refuse to deal with him in that state,” he said. “You understand?”  


Tsukishima thought about a rude comeback—hell, he was the smart one, he had plenty of rude comebacks locked and loaded (no matter that Akaashi was a year older). But Kuroo said something and Bokuto hooted with laughter, and he glanced over to see the two captains sporting uniquely awful grins. They had dared Hinata and Inuoka to do something, apparently—all Tsukishima saw was more of the usual gratuitous shouting and jumping. But he saw something else there too.  


“It’s already too late, isn’t it.” He murmured. “I let one of them catch me, but the two of them together are like a black hole.”  


Akaashi said nothing, but the look he gave Tsukishima spoke volumes. _No_ , Tsukishima thought. _I’m not letting it get to me. I’m better than that_. He settled his glasses on the bridge of his nose and went back to his lunch. There was time to figure something out.  


Of course, the universe had already tried to teach him about optimism once. This must be his remedial lesson in giving up on a better tomorrow, he thought sourly as he passed the gym that night and saw Kuroo loitering in the doorway. When Nekoma's captain spotted Tsukishima he leered and gestured him over.  


“Bokuto’s already chased off his entire team, so you’re tonight’s lucky winner. I saw you taking it easy on your penalty runs, so I’m sure you’ve got energy to spare for blocking.”  


Tsukishima hesitated. Kuroo watched him patiently, all sleepy eyes and sharp teeth. Akaashi appeared in the square of light cut out by the doorway, and _looked_ at him. Tsukishima sighed, and went.  


“Guess you just can’t get enough of me, huh?” Bokuto called from the other side of the net, practically vibrating with enthusiasm. He spun the ball expertly between his fingers, and Tsukishima didn’t know whether to be impressed by his deftness or annoyed by his attitude. No one should have that much energy after dark. His palms began to itch in memory of the fierce sting of a straight spike, though, and he found it wasn’t altogether unpleasant.  


“Of me, you mean,” Kuroo drawled, looming up out of nowhere to drop a hand on Tsukishima’s shoulder. “He’s come to learn blocking from the master.” Tsukishima realized with a chill that he knew exactly what face Kuroo was making, that shit-eating grin plastered across his face like misspelled graffiti across an alley Dumpster. Bokuto laughed his embarrassing laugh, and Kuroo gave Tsukishima’s shoulder several slow, deliberate pats. Akaashi was definitely smirking at him as he approached. Something in Tsukishima’s soul shriveled a little. Everything about it was terrible.  


_Everything about this is terrible_ , he thought to himself later, as another wicked spike winged past his fingertips. Bokuto whooped in celebration and Kuroo made a lazy noise of irritation. _Everything about this is intolerable, and these people are the worst_. Akaashi paused on his way to retrieve the ball and fixed him with that weird impenetrable stare, as if he’d heard Tsukishima’s thoughts. _This sucks_ , he repeated to himself, more forcefully this time.  


It wasn’t for lack of effort, but as Bokuto geared up for another spike, Tsukishima’s inner voice faltered. Akaashi’s intently focused expression flashed in his mind’s eye. Bokuto leapt for the toss. _Everything about this is—_  


Kuroo crowded in close, his gaze sharpening until it was unsettling in an entirely different way. The ball spun high in its arc, and some small part of Tsukishima registered the sweat soaking into all of their shirt collars. _Everything about this—_  


Bokuto’s face was—not joyful, but somehow alight as he drew back for the strike. At the moment of impact Tsukishima saw the probabilities, calculated trajectory and force. He breathed evenly and shifted position, feeling Kuroo do the same. Forced by Tsukishima’s spread arms, the strike hit Kuroo’s wrist with a sharp smack. It spun and dropped, momentum gone. _Everything—_  


Tsukishima blinked the dazzle of the gym floodlights away. Bokuto groaned in frustration at his failure, or maybe at the smug grin oozing across Kuroo’s face. Akaashi tossed his head impatiently, the ball already back in his hands. “Next time,” he told his captain, who shot them a fierce grin and moved back into position.  


Yeah, he was in deep. Tsukishima scrubbed a hand through his pale hair and snorted, more at himself than anything else, and moved back too. Kuroo cast him a knowing look, which maybe didn’t mean anything because Kuroo’s face was built for smugness, but it was irritating and kind of gratifying all the same. Lifting his chin at the guys on the other side of the net, Tsukishima got ready to block again.  


Getting shouted at by Yamaguchi had triggered something, some kind of tectonic shift in him. Not that he’d admit it, of course. But later, when the other boy tried out a tentative “About what I said—I meant it. I hope you’re not mad, though,” Tsukishima scoffed at him.  


“Jeez, don’t be so skittish,” he said, because it wouldn’t be normal, wouldn’t be _them_ , if he didn’t demonstrate some inability to be delicate about things. “I’m not mad. I told you what I thought. It’s fine.”  


Yamaguchi visibly relaxed, happy to have things out in the open again. “I’m glad,” he said after a little while. “It’s pretty cool that Bokuto-san and Kuroo-san want you to practice with them. I’d like to stand on the court with people that talented, you know?”  


Something must have shown on his face, because Yamaguchi tensed up again and scooted back just a bit. “Whoa, Tsukki, you—” he bit his lip and looked away, and Tsukishima could tell he was fighting a smile.  


“What?”  


“It’s just, well. You made a face a lot like Akaashi-san’s just then.”  


Tsukishima considered this. It didn’t take long, because Akaashi only had like four facial expressions. One was reserved for victory celebrations, but the other three were variations on the theme of _Bokuto-san, why_. He felt himself scowling, which was a relief, a little more like himself.  


“I think I’ve been assimilated,” he said.  


Yamaguchi cocked his head, waiting for an explanation. “Bokuto-san is hard to escape,” Tsukishima clarified. He sighed and shook his head, feeling surprisingly light despite the gesture. “Well, there’s not much to be done about it now. Might as well.”  


“Oh—you ‘might as well,’ huh?” Yamaguchi laughed, he outright _laughed_ and honestly, Tsukishima wished people would stop giving him knowing looks.  


He kept going to bed with stinging hands and forearms, the round echoes of stopped balls and spikes ringing in his ears. Bokuto kept on handing him things at lunch, and a combination of Akaashi's meaningful stare and the total enthusiasm in the wing spiker's eyes meant that Tskushima couldn't help but accept. Bokuto's entire being was suffused with the certainty that people would like him. It spilled over in his gaze and Tsukishima couldn't decide whether he went along out of pity or because he'd already been sucked in beyond the event horizon of friendship.  


If he was being honest with himself, he knew it was probably that second thing. Bokuto's energy had a way of spilling over too, and while sometimes it was just exhausting, there were times when he wanted to hear the ring of the ball against his hand again, feel the impact and know that all that wild momentum had gone out of it and into him. That didn't count as lame if he didn't say it out loud, right?  


As he cleaned up the remains of his lunch one day, he heard Bokuto give a whoop of amusement from inside the gym. Akaashi stopped on his way to the trash can and turned toward the sound like a weathervane in a stiff breeze, a look of faint exasperation already creeping over his face. He headed for his captain without hesitation, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.  


Of course, it may as well have been. Tsukishima had seen him do the same thing countless times over the course of their training camp, and allowed himself to think disdainfully that it was like a trained dog running to the whistle. But now he thought it looked like Batman answering the Bat-signal. They heard Kuroo's unmistakable laughter, followed by a yelp, a thud, and what was definitely the sound of a carriage of volleyballs spilling all over the ground. Akaashi picked up his pace and vanished inside the gym.  


Curiosity got the better of him after a little while, and he ambled over to see what the damage was. Akaashi was following Bokuto around the gym, ostensibly to help him pick up the thirty or so volleyballs rolling around the floor, but really to glare at the back of his neck and make sure he didn't get distracted. Kuroo was chivvying Lev along the same task, and definitely not doing any work himself. He was still grinning.  


“You should know better than to dare anyone from Nekoma to do anything,” Akaashi told his captain dryly. “They take it as an insult.” It sounded like part of a well-worn lecture, and Tsukishima snickered at the picture they made.  


”That's what makes it funny,” Bokuto said, undaunted. “Anyway, don't I owe it to Kuroo to make things interesting?”  


He lobbed a stray volleyball into the carriage, then cocked his head and gave them an unexpectedly shrewd look. “Kuroo has to keep his team in line, yeah? But the way I see it, at training camp the bets are off! I'm his excuse to be the person we all know he is inside.”  


I thought you were a spiker, not a decoy,” Akaashi drawled, nudging another few volleyballs toward his captain with a meaningful look.  


“You, on the other hand, make an excellent animal control officer,” Tsukishima told Akaashi, and he even meant it mostly as a compliment.  


Lev yelped as he tripped over a volleyball, and they turned simultaneously to watch Nekoma's captain needling his junior player. “That might be enough for Bokuto-san, but I’d need to be a priest to get Kuroo-san under control,” Akaashi mused. “Only prayer can cleanse the places where he’s been.”  


Tsukishima glanced at him and found amusement dancing in his eyes. His face was as calm as ever, but for a moment he looked wicked. Then the blank irritation crept back into place, and he ducked smoothly out of the way as Bokuto tried to sling an arm around his shoulders. “Not done yet, captain,” he said.  


Yamaguchi still seemed to find something funny about the way Bokuto dragged him into practice night after night, but when Tsukishima growled at him about it he just turned pink with the effort of holding back his laughter. Things like “cute” and “happy for you,” were also tossed into the mix, but Tsukishima wasn't about to listen to that.  


All the same, he found himself shaking hands with Bokuto and Akaashi after their final game against Fukurodani, where he at last understood why Akaashi had warned him against hurting Bokuto’s feelings. God, had he really fallen in with people like that?  


As he asked himself that question, he realized that there was no point whatsoever in getting superior about it. He knew the answer. He’d gotten used to sharing the court with them.  


At the barbeque, Bokuto proved to be a force to be reckoned with. Tsukishima noticed Akaashi taking strategic advantage of the spaces cleared by his captain’s flailing arms and elbows. He retreated to a safe distance to take care of his own food, but of course it couldn’t last. Daichi, of all people, decided today was the day to mess with him, cheerfully forcing more food on him than he could possibly eat and generally doing an excellent impersonation of his mother.  


While Bokuto and Kuroo were hassling their respective underclassmen, Akaashi came and settled himself on the gym steps next to Tsukishima. They ate in noncommittal silence for a while, watching the other players mill around and embarrass themselves. It was only by chance that Tsukishima looked up and noticed an unfamiliar something—not tenderness, but a kind of ease—in Akaashi’s expression as he watched his captain beat Shinzen’s libero to another slice of beef.  


“You’re enjoying this,” Tsukishima said aloud, finally, and knew it was true. Bokuto laughed uproariously at something Komi had said, and Akaashi raised an eyebrow. “The way he is, you practically have to have him on a leash, but…”  


To someone less observant, Akaashi probably looked as detached as ever, but Tsukishima had learned to mark at least some of the minute changes in the setter’s face. When he saw his accusation confirmed there, he sat back, not sure whether to feel betrayed or shout _Hah! I knew it!_  
“You _like_ it,” he said again, uselessly.  


“I’m part of Fukurodani, so of course I stand by my captain,” Akaashi said blandly. But then he leaned in, and a sharp-edged smirk flickered across his face. “Just do me a favor,” he said, “And don’t tell Bokuto-san. If he realizes I’m his friend, I’ll never get a moment’s peace.”  


Tsukishima let out a noise halfway between a growl and a sigh. “ _You_ ,” he said, and stopped. What was there to say? Daichi was at his elbow again, offering him a plate of rice balls he sort of wanted but was absolutely not going to take, for reasons of pride. Hinata and Lev were making too much noise, Kuroo was prowling between the grills looking for his next point of attack, and Kageyama was eating more than should be physically possibly for someone his size. The air was spicy with smoke. He breathed it in, flexing his restless hands.  


When he spread them, he felt again that inner heat and pressure, like continents slowly shifting position. He grinned then, quick and keen and just for himself. The next attack was coming, the Spring High Tournament leaping up on their horizon. By then he’d be ready—he’d have found his place to stand.

**Author's Note:**

> see ch 86 for the unending stream of terrible facial expressions, dangerous eyebrows, shit-talking, and VOLLEYBALL SPIRIT that carved Kuroo and Bokuto into my heart. those boys are a menace, and Akaashi is the only thing standing between them and the end of life as we know it. inflicting them all on Tsukishima at once was the most fun I've had in a while


End file.
